test22 test22

Fever of Dreams

test22 test22

Share Via:

Deep in August, autumn

feels so far away - the moon's still

golden, will be silvered by September

when gusts slide over earth and

tuck away the sun

I plan to catch in nets a cloak of leaves

and cocoon myself, lose myself,

in a fever of dreams.

I will spend an hour every morning

in a sleep-induced Xanadu:

There a curtained cave, satin


hides us warm and soft and still.

It’s the seat of malevolent beauty;

of an enchanted forest of dreams,

the clearings here and there

host scenes of futures ill-conceived

enthralled – I’m high and better

In one – a Prince of Prague,

a poet with keys to the city.

Music twirls with leaves, loops

into my ear – charming me

into submission, I lose

morning, day and night

as a lyricist who’s stitched together

the pieces of content. Guilt wells up

into my neck, spills into my head,

So that insect-like,

I spring from bed,

puny and in withdrawal.

test22 test22